Grey jumped the last few feet to the ground. He brushed himself off. "Is he all right?"

"I don't know. He hasn't said."

"Have you given him a chance?''

Nat wriggled out of Berkeley's arms. "I ain't hurt myself," he said somewhat defiantly. "I know how to get on."

"Of course you do," Grey said. "You got the entire way to San Francisco without mishap. You can certainly manage a few city blocks without coming to grief."

"Can I have my jacket?" Nat asked.

Grey handed it over. "What are your plans?"

Nat jammed his arms into the sleeves and pulled the jacket on. "What do you mean?"

"I mean do you intend to bolt again or are you coming back to the Phoenix with us?"

"Grey," Berkeley began. "He's cominga""

"He needs to make up his own mind," Grey said firmly.

Nat's eyes darted from Grey to Berkeley and back again. It was difficult to make out their features, and he was wary of good intentions. "You'd take me back?"

Grey expelled a breath slowly and kneaded the nape of his neck. "I didn't come here to tuck you in, Nat. Of course I want you back at the Phoenix." Grey thought that would be enough for the boy. Instead Nat turned to Berkeley.

"What about you, Miss Shaw?"

Grey started to protest. "Nat, Miss Shaw's the one who insisteda""

Berkeley caught the edge of Grey's sleeve and tugged. "No, Grey, you don't understand all of it. Nat wants to know if I only came looking for him because of the earring." She reached out. The tips of her fingers brushed Nat's cheek. "It's part of the reason I came," she told him. "But I think you were afraid I wouldn't otherwise. That's why you took it from the box on my mantel. You still have it, don't you? You haven't p.a.w.ned it."

In answer, Nat reached in his jacket pocket and withdrew the earring. Even in the poor light it shone splendidly at the center of his palm. He dropped it into hers and watched it disappear as her fingers closed over it.

Berkeley gave the earring to Grey for safekeeping. She dropped to her knees in front of Nat and took his hands in hers. She had to look up at him, and she held him fast when he would have pulled away. "Listen to me, Nat," she said, her voice imploring him. "That earring isn't properly mine. I had to find it. But I would have come after you regardless, and I would have asked you to come back even if you'd sold it. I hope you believe me because I don't know any other way to say it. You've practically lived in my pockets these past six weeks. I'd miss you dreadfully if you stayed away now. I care very much what happens to you."

Nat felt his eyes well up with tears. He couldn't brush them away because Berkeley held his hands. He blinked them back and sniffed hard. "But you've been so unhappy," he said, his voice quavering. "Sam said you've been like that since I came." He didn't give Berkeley an opportunity to answer. His head swiveled to Grey. "And you, Mr. Janeway. I've been a sore disappointment to you. The only job you asked me to do for you, I managed to make a mess of."

Grey tried to silence the boy with a warning look, but the darkness of the warehouse shrouded his expression.

"I'm supposed to be looking after her, not the other way around."

Berkeley's attention swung fast in Grey's direction. "Did I hear him correctly?" she demanded softly. "Did you set Nat the task of keeping an eye on me?"

"Both eyes," Nat interjected.

Grey sighed. "It was a good job for him. He needed something important to occupy him."

"But I was looking out for him."

"I know. You needed something worthwhile to occupy you."

Berkeley glanced back at Nat. "What was he paying you?"

"Two bits a day and my room and board."

She didn't blink at Grey's generosity. Instead she felt her heart swell. "You're a shrewd bargainer, Nat," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. Berkeley managed a wry chuckle. "I worked for nothing."

"I would've, too," the boy offered earnestly. "I didn't mind at all livin' in your pockets."

Berkeley allowed Grey to help her to her feet. "It seems to me you're not entirely to be trusted," she said to him softly.

Grinning, Grey put his hand behind Nat's shoulders and gave him a nudge. "Let's go. Can we use the door and lock it behind us?"

"Sure," Nat said. "I never leave by the window."

A few minutes later they were settled in the carriage. Berkeley put on her mantle but sat on the petticoats. She made Nat squeeze between her and Grey and covered him with the blanket. She slipped one arm around his thin shoulders while Grey took the reins. "You know, Nat," she said, "whether or not Mr. Janeway and I get along, it has nothing to do with you. Sam didn't mean for you to think that. And looking after me doesn't make you responsible for my actions or my moods. I don't want you to come back to the Phoenix because Mr. Janeway and I want you there. I hope you're coming back because it's where you want to be."

The carriage pa.s.sed under a street lantern. Grey looked over the top of Nat's bright hair at Berkeley. His eyes caught hers, and for once he let her see the unshuttered depths.

"I know it's why I'm going back," she said quietly, answering the question Grey hadn't had to ask.

Sam Hartford inspected the bra.s.s rail of the bar for scratches and spots. He tapped a fitting with the toe of his boot. "Missed something here," he said.

Nat stooped obediently, rag in hand, and began furiously wiping away the offending dullness.

Sam eyed the boy suspiciously. Nat's eagerness to make himself helpful raised a few questions in Sam's mind. "You sure Miss Shaw said I was supposed to put you to work this morning?" he asked. "This is the time she usually makes for your lesson."

"You saw yourself how she was at breakfast," Nat said.

"Near pale as that rag you're usin'," Sam said. "Not a kind comparison, but then I was never good with words."

Nat glanced at the rag. It was a light gray color. "She was about this shade, all right. She's having a lie-down now. I don't expect she'll be up again for another hour." Nat plopped himself on the floor and crossed his legs tailor-fashion. "You notice there's been a thaw, Sam? Between Miss Shaw and Mr. Janeway, I mean."

Sam stretched his neck and scratched the underside of his chin. "I been noticin' it for 'bout a month now. Reckon it started around the time you took off." He gave Nat a stern look. "Now don't be making too much of that. It's probably just a coincidence that they've been chippin' away at the ice since then."

"What do you make of it?"

"I think Mr. Janeway's courtin' her."

Nat's head bobbed once. "d.a.m.n if I don't think the same thing."

"Watch your mouth, Nat. There'll be h.e.l.l to pay if Miss Shaw hears you."

Nat accepted the rebuke with a grin and bent to his task.

One of Sam's wiry brows kicked up. "What are you really supposed to be doing right now?"

"It's what you're supposed to be doing," Nat said. "Teaching me from A Moral System of Philosophy.''

Sam made a face. "You still got that magazine Mr. Janeway slipped you yesterday?"

"It's in my room."

"Well, go get it. Seems I recollect seein "Murders in the Rue Morgue' by that Poe fella. I suppose we can do some moral philosophizin' about that. Killin' ain't right, you know."

Upstairs in her suite Berkeley was blissfully unaware that her teaching methods were being subverted. She lay on her side in bed, a cool compress across her forehead. She fingered the delicate gold chain around her neck until she touched the pendant that dangled from it. The pearl was smooth under her fingertips. The golden teardrop beneath it was warm from resting against her skin.

Grey hadn't returned the earring to her for more than a week after they had retrieved Nat from the warehouse. She had asked for it several times, but he either changed the subject or simply promised he would get it from his safe later. When he did return the earring it was in a cherry wood box with its own secret drawer. The fittings were so tight it had the appearance of a solid block of beautifully burnished wood. He had to show her how to slide one of the pieces to reveal the contents.

Berkeley had no difficulty recognizing the earring for what it had become: a peace offering.

She knew he had heard her tell Nat that the earring wasn't properly hers, but he didn't question her about it. He never once reminded her that she had said outright that it had been a gift. He let the fact that she lied to him become unimportant. Instead he made the earring hers by having it fashioned into the necklace she wanted. She had allowed him to place it around her throat. His fingers had been very gentle as they brushed her skin. She thought he might kiss her then, but he hadn't.

They spoke several times a day after that, always briefly but without strain. In the beginning it was mostly of inconsequential things. He remarked on the gown she had chosen; she complimented his jacket. They compared notes about the evening meal. Later Grey began to ask about Nat's promise as a student and Berkeley would inquire about the business. They stopped pa.s.sing comments about the weather and spent more time in the gaming hall in each other's company.

Berkeley found reasons to search him out in the crowd of gamblers. He found excuses to touch her.

She noticed things about him that she had not seen clearly before. He was reserved among the men who came to the Phoenix and called him friend. Grey was polite but distant. He was warmer to the men who worked for him than he was to any of the ones he entertained or did business with. He did not extend trust easily and was wary when others did.

Berkeley had seen him being approached by Sam Brannan on two different occasions. Grey declined to serve on the Vigilance Committee both times, but he managed not to make an enemy of the powerful Brannan in the process.

He was a careful man, thoughtful and considerate. She had been wrong to think there was ever a time he hadn't paid attention to her. It was his nature to pay attention to everything. He knew when Sam's rheumatism was paining the older man. He knew exactly what to say to end one of Annie Jack's tirades. He performed sleight of hand for Nat's amus.e.m.e.nt and knew exactly where the boy was in his lessons. There wasn't an employee whose name he didn't use with ease. That everyone had a sense of their own importance in the running of the hall was Grey's doing. George Pettigrew, the effusive greeter from the El Dorado, came to work at the Phoenix. So did a number of others who were valuable in their positions at equally profitable gaming houses. Without ingratiating himself to anyone, Grey Janeway attracted people who wanted to work for him.

He took care of the people he cared about and did it in ways that weren't obvious. A colorful ap.r.o.n, with strings long enough to get around Annie's ample waist, would suddenly appear in her kitchen. Sam would find a new bottle of liniment for his aching bones while he was sorting out the bar stock. There were books for Nat, tools for Donnel, and for Ivory DuPree there had been the settling of an old score.

Berkeley felt strongly that she was never meant to know about the beating that Hank Brock endured, or at least never know the origin of the fists that pummeled him. The item in the Gazette that caught her eye was an account of the attempt on Sam Brannan's life. Offering no proof, the reporter and Brannan surmised that it was the work of the Sydney Ducks, a response to their displeasure with the Vigilance Committee. Brannan himself was unhurt, and in fact hadn't been present when the Ducks made their strike. The attack had been more in the nature of a warning, the reporter wrote, and one of Brannan's bodyguards, a Mr. Henry "Hank" Brock, took the severe beating for being a.s.sociated with Brannan and responsible for his protection.

Berkeley never asked Grey what part he had played in serving up Ivory DuPree's retribution. His slightly swollen hands and grazed knuckles were proof enough that he had seen to the problem of Hank Brock personally.

Pandora made a graceful leap to the bed and drew Berkeley out of her musings. "Where did you come from?'' she asked the cat. "I thought you were downstairs with Nat" The ever-inscrutable Pandora simply stared back at her. Berkeley scratched her neck. "Did I leave the door ajar? Is that what I did?"

"Berkeley? May I come in?"

It was Grey's voice that filtered in from the adjoining room. Berkeley was trying to sit up to make a better presence when he poked his head around the bedroom door. "Stay where you are," he ordered quietly. "My objective wasn't to disturb you. I was on my way downstairs when I saw Pandora slip in here. I thought I could get her before she made a run at your bed." He gave the cat an arch look. "It appears I'm too late."

"I don't mind Pandora's company," Berkeley said. She lowered her head back to the pillow and didn't replace the compress. "Or yours."

This last was spoken so softly that Grey took his cue from the movement of her lips. "I'll only stay a moment.'' He pushed the door wider and came through. There was a rocker by the window, and Grey moved it closer to the bed. "Annie tells me you left breakfast just after I did this morning. She's wondering if something she prepared disagreed with you."

Berkeley slipped one arm under her pillow, raising her head a few inches. "She's afraid I'll put a spell on her if I suspect she's trying to poison me."

"Something like that," Grey admitted. "I'm supposed to look around here for charms and potions, and if you have a doll that looks like Annie, I'm supposed to take it with mea" or at least get the pins out."

Berkeley laughed. "Poor Annie. She doesn't know what to make of me."

Grey's smile faded. He let silence draw out a beat longer before he said, "Neither do I."

The expression in her leaf green eyes was gentle. "I know.''

His intention not to linger fell by the wayside. "Do you mind?" he asked. "I'd like to talk about that. There are some questionsa" His voice trailed off because he felt the full force of her extraordinary smile. It was at once wistful and shy, yet somehow encouraging. Her skin glowed, and the gentleness of her expression was replaced by an unusual serenity. It was almost as if she knew what he was going to ask. "I think I'm prepared to hear your answers," he said finally.

Berkeley nodded. "I think you are, too."

"You've been enormously patient, waiting me out like this."

"Enormously stubborn," she said. "Intractable."

"A little," he allowed. He leaned forward in the rocker, stopping its motion cold while he rested his forearms on his knees. "There's something to this talent of yours, isn't there? It's not merely clever parlor tricks."

"Do you want an answer?" she asked. "Or confirmation of what you've been observing. I can't tell."

Grey hesitated. "Confirmation," he said at last.

"Then you're right. There is something to my talent. It's not merely clever parlor tricks."

"But sometimes it is fakery."

"Actually quite a lot of the time that's exactly what it is." She saw Grey's fingers press together at the tips as he frowned. "Do you think I'm being contradictory? My special gift is incredibly wearing. I can't sustain what's required of me to use it day after day. I can't let myself be that vulnerable. So, yes, often I rely on other means to enhance it."

"Like watching how people carry themselves and listening for their accents. You wait for the small expressions and movements that give them away."

"Exactly like that. I told you that's what I did from the first. You weren't prepared then to hear that it might be anything else."

"But when you looked at my palm it wasa""

"It was never about looking at your palm." Berkeley carefully pushed herself upright. She smoothed the fringed coverlet across her legs. "I have almost no idea what the lines and mounts on anyone's palm mean. It was because I touched you and allowed myself to feel something that I know what I know.''

"Ivory's gown," Grey said. "You allowed yourself to feel that?"

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head. "Oh G.o.d, no. I couldn't help myself that night. Sometimes there's an intensity about an object I'm touching that I'm helpless to ignore. It was like that with Ivory's gown. Perhaps if I hadn't been wearing ita" She shrugged. "I don't know. It was very powerful. It may not have made any difference."

"And with my hand? The intensity was there?"

Berkeley understood what Grey was really asking. "That's more difficult to explain, and I don't know that I can or that it would make any sense to you. You're still wondering how I know about the man you killed."

"Yes."

"There was no trickery involved," she said. "You're very guarded, Grey. There's little you give away casually."

His features were perfectly schooled now. There was only a slight narrowing of his eyes as he searched her face.

Berkeley fingered the earring pendant. "Shall I tell you something about Graham Denison?"

Grey's glance strayed to her throat. "Is that who gave you the earring?"

"In a way," she said, watching him closely. "It's also the name of the man you killed."

Grey came up out of the rocker as if shot from a cannon. Pandora's back arched, then she crouched and prepared to pounce. "You can't know that," he said, glaring at the cat. His long-legged stride took him to the window. He stared out, his arms rigid at his side. "It's not possible." This last was said softly, more to himself than to Berkeley. "You couldn't know."